Defining Low
by O.Y.F.Inc
Summary: Badou never thought he'd end up broke to the point of performing as a drag queen to make ends meet, and Heine never suspected he'd mistakenly buy breakfast for a man dressed as a woman. An alternative to how Heine and Badou began working together.
1. Chapter 1

_The name of this story is: _Defining Low

_Author: _Cruelty of the Snow

_Fandom: _Dogs: Bullets and Carnage by Miwa Shirow

_Pairing: _Heine Rammsteiner x Badou Nails

_Alright, lovelies. This is loosely based off of an rp Kaida and I had about a year ago, and I figured, with a few storyline changes it could make a half-way decent Fanfiction. Exciting, I know. The whole thing is mildly AU. Not completely, just mildly, mind you. Oh, and if you find anything exceptionally disturbing throughout this, blame it on me being a sick bastard. :D_

Badou wasn't a stranger to being broke, however this constituted as a new low. It wasn't that he necessarily had anything _against _dancing on a Friday night. No. That wasn't the problem here. The problem was the fact he was dancing, on a stage, on a Friday evening, dressed in women's clothing. Yes… That _was _quite a bit of a problem.

It didn't help that the audience was entirely made up by lusting, middle-age, homosexual men. That didn't help one bit. He shuddered, hoping his boss hadn't seen the shiver. When you were onstage, you simply didn't shudder, no matter how straight you were.

The red-head stole a glance at the clock. Only another five minutes before he was done for the night, though he supposed it was actually closer to the morning. He mildly regretted forgetting his usual clothes at his house. He had been in a hurry on his way to work, and ended up coming dressed as a woman, knowing he could spare no time to change. He would leave dressed as one as well. He sighed, and filed off the stage with the other dancers as the next shift filed on.

What a relief! He wouldn't have to go through this for almost another twenty hours! "Only… twenty hours." The redhead muttered to himself, in despair. He reached the backroom, opening the door and stepping inside, after a brief glance around the area. The man hadn't been working at the club for a month, and he'd already managed to get himself into some pretty awkward situations by not surreptitiously scanning the backroom before walking in. He let out the breath of air he'd been subconsciously holding when he flicked the lights on, and no one was tied to anything. No whips were in sight. In fact, no objects of questionable nature could be seen. Sidestepping around the ever disturbing side cabinet (which he compared to the Narnia he just never wanted to visit again), he made his way to the sink and mirror on the back wall. Reaching into a small drawer under the sink, he removed a cloth and some fresh makeup. "I'm not going to leave looking like a damn drag queen." He muttered under his breath, as he grit his teeth and splashed his face with cold water. Black and purple cascaded itself way down his face, not unlike some sort of putrid waterfall. He felt like puking, as some of the thick, pasty shadow found its way into his mouth. Who knew that shit could taste any worse than shampoo? He spit out the offending substance with vigor, preferring not to think about what else had been spit out in this very room.

Badou looked in the mirror when his face seemed to be relatively makeup free. As usual the tell tale line of eyeliner and mascara still remained around his eyes. A few more hearty scrubs saw the end of this, however. He sighed now.

"Like I'm going to let anyone realize I'm a dude in a dress." He muttered, draying his face and reaching for the foundation and eyeliner, once more. A touch of blush, a little mascara and some lipgloss had him looking like your average, completely female, stripper; at least in his opinion. The man tied back his hair, in a messy, but fashionable bun, glancing down at his frighteningly tall heels and took a tentative step towards the door. Being relatively new to such shoes, each new bout of walking was like ice skating for the first time in a year. One had to get re-accustomed with each venture.

Forcing himself to sway his hips, Badou stepped into the back alley of the bar, stepping over what he was certain was a used rubber, and making his way back to the main street. He made a point to walk toward, and past the bar without sparing it a glance. No one would ever suspect he worked there. Never. When he deemed himself safely away from his place of employment, he spared a glance in a nearby dark window.

"How far the mighty have fallen." The man sighed, reaching into what would normally have been his pocket with a loud curse.

He'd left his fucking cigs at home.

Badou cursed again, more loudly, shaking his head in despair.

That's when he caught sight of the other man. Of average size and height, the only thing that made him stand out was his white hair. Glaringly white, like an old man hopped up on Botox injections. That had to be what it was. White hair and an attractive face, it had to be Botox. As he drew closer to the other man, Badou became distinctly aware the other man was staring at him. He also became distinctly aware that he was fucking hungry, and hadn't gotten his paycheck for the week yet.

The wheels in his mind began to turn, and a brilliant idea formed in the redhead's brain. He readjusted the patch he'd placed over his eye. His usual story when he was dressed like this, was that he was into pirate play. It always seemed to raise some sort of an interest in the men spoke with and he figured this would be no different.

This white haired bastard was obviously checking him out and Badou was hungry. All in all, it seemed the combination worked pretty well. Mustering up his feminine side, Badou sauntered his way up to the white haired man and closer inspection revealed he really was young. However, said young man took a nervous step back when he realized Badou approached him.

"What's the matter?" Badou purred, in his best impression of a sultry woman. "Afraid of a full grown woman? You don't look the type." He grinned, completely unaware of just how true the statement was. It was also at this time that Badou became aware of another rather uncomfortable fact. He stood a few inches taller than the other man. The heels he wore only served to extenuate this unfortunate height difference.

Badou almost laughed when he saw the other man's eyes narrowed. He'd taken the bait.

"Of course not." The white haired man scoffed. "I'm just in a hurry and don't have the time to be bothered with your kind."

"My kind?"

"Whores."

"Hey! You've got it wrong! I'm no whore!" Badou exclaimed. Sure, it was a good opportunity to demand breakfast, but he really needed to get the hell out of those clothes, and soon. "You owe a lady dinner—er – breakfast, actually, after an insult like that!" Dinner just seemed to role so much more easily off the tongue in this scenario.

He could see the white haired man's mind struggling to grasp what Badou had said. Then, with a defeated sigh, almost as if he was merely too lazy to say no, he nodded. "Fine. Fine. But then I'd love it, if you'd leave me alone. I don't know what you're up to, but it takes more than a pretty face to win me over." He grinned. His expression changed then, as he looked Badou up and down. "Here's the deal. I'll buy you breakfast, but first you're going to go home and change into something that won't make my favorite café think I hired some fun for then night, hmm? Meet me in an hour?"

Badou stared with his mouth agape for a moment before finally nodding, a tad suspicious by this sudden compliance."Where's this place?" He asked, dejectedly. Somehow he just knew the white haired man wouldn't really show up. It was worth a shot, anyway, though.

"Oh, just down the street there, actually." The white hair man replied, with a small smirk, as if he dared the red head to complain about the café being in the less… expensive section of town.

"I'll be there in an hour then." Badou replied, hurriedly. "Toodaloo!" He added, merely for his own amusement. In fact, so amused by the stupidity of his departing words, it wasn't until he realized he'd have to come out of his house dressed a woman again, that Badou's face fell into an expression of sulleness.

"Shit." He grumbled, fumbling at his non-existent pocket for an equally non-existent cig. "Fuck!"

****

Heine stared after the odd woman with a look of mortification. He'd just signed his own death warrant. "Who cares if she was acting suspicious… She's a she." He muttered, under his breath. _He _didn't do well with _shes. _

The man shook his head. Still, he found it odd she'd approached him of all people, in such a way. Almost certain something more sinister than being a hungry stripper was the cause of her actions, he'd felt it was best to get a better idea of the situation.

Even if she was a woman.

He didn't suffer from a shortage of enemies, after all and he couldn't afford to let his guard down, not even for a second. Shaking his head, and running a finger down the barrel of one of his guns, for reassurance, Heine began the trek to the café.

He needed to think before they spoke face to face. He needed to have his wits about him in order to determine whether the woman was a threat or merely an idiot. Who knew these days, after all? After a few more steps, he found himself at the door of the familiar café, and he opened it, walked in and took a seat at what could only be called his usual table. The waitress smiled at him, and he gave a nod in response, along with a wave of his hand, in indication someone would be meeting him.

Heine hadn't slept in almost two days and it must have shown on his face, because the waitress brought him over a cup of coffee. "It's on the house." She murmured, with a small smile on her face.

"Thanks." Heine replied, a bit gruffly, but kindly. Then, when she was out of hearing range, he added. "I guess I must look worse than I thought." He turned his attention to the door, hoping something drastically awful wouldn't occur the moment the odd woman stepped through the doors.

With his luck, Heine couldn't afford to let his guard, down. Readjusting the bandages covering his neck, and toying with the guns chained to his waist, Heine waited for what was certain to be an eventful breakfast.

_Thanks for reading~ And if anyone is wondering about Apologetic Realizations (my Harry Potter based piece, I still plan to finish it, I'm just magnificently lazy and wanted to get started on this) _

_Now remember, loves, R&R makes my day and encourages me to keep writing. _


	2. Chapter 2

_The name of this story is:_Defining Low

_Author:_Cruelty of the Snow

_Fandom:_Dogs: Bullets and Carnage by Miwa Shirow

_Pairing:_Heine Rammsteiner x Badou Nails

_So here it is, at last! Chapter Two of Defining Low! I hope no one is too utterly enraged at me for taking so long to get the next chapter up, but I haven't forgotten! I wanted to get this chapter our sooner, but various things got in the way. At last, however, here it is! And as an apology for the long wait,my dear readers, I'll be putting up a pretty smutty Haine x Badou one shot I wrote for fun, within the next week or two. It's been almost done for a while, and I'm just working on some final touches! _

_And once again, I will reiterate, this is not directly based from the manga/ova, it has the same characters, with the same basic pasts, but they are living as if they have yet to meet each other. _

**Defining Low: Chapter Two**

Badou found himself regretting his agreement to meet the other man, yet his hunger served as strong enough motivation to lure him out of his home once more. In a hurry, he'd scoured his entire apartment, searching for clothes functional for concealing his gender, yet modest enough so the other man would, indeed, feed him.

It wasn't Badou's lucky day.

Absolutely nothing he owned so much as resembled modest feminine apparel. A straight man did not normally own female garments and a drag queen did not often own modest garments. Though he owned a bit of both, the two didn't seem to overlap.

It appeared he'd be fashionably late to meet the other man, as he ran towards the shop where he most often acquired his…elements of feminine dress. The first time he'd entered said shop, he'd sworn it would be the last time; however, life did have quite the habit of throwing the occasional riveting surprise into Badou's life. He didn't completely appreciate this fact, at least, not as much as he could have. He'd been in the shop many times since his introduction to embarrassment, and knew more about the lewd and lusting shop keeper than him or any of the man's other unfortunate customers before him had ever wished to know.

When Badou entered the shop, clearly flustered, the shop keeper's eyes lit up.

"Why my little Badou! My little prodigy! My little _puppy_!" He chuckled. "To whatever cause might I attribute this delightful little visit? Have you outgrown your old …. Lingerie? Are you feeling more adventurous now and finding it's all a bit too youthful and childish?" The man was squat, with a large, misshapen black mustache, and a balding head. His eyes, however, were heavily lined in fluorescent blue eyeliner and his lips painted an obnoxious red. All in all, Badou found the entire combination a tad disconcerting.

The man reached out a meaty hand in cheerful greeting. "Ah, my little Badou!" He purred, much to Badou's continuing horrification.

Finally the red head managed a spluttering reply. "N-No! Are ya crazy or somethin'?" he paused, before forcing himself to continue on. "I was _hoping_ you had something a little more modest to offer me, ya' know?" He hissed, as if concerned someone would overhear the conversation.

"Mmhmm. You know, Badou. I'm sure you'd have a boyfriend by now if you made a point to talk like a lady! Dropping the beginnings and ends of your words, is such an atrocious habit! I shiver in fear every time I'm around you, terrified I might just pick it up!" The man exclaimed, perfectly annunciating every word he spoke. "Now I'll just need to get your measurements and select you a new outfit!"

"Ya' already have my measurements, ya' ol' pervert!" Badou exclaimed, dropping the ends and beginnings of his words even worse now. "And, you know I don't want a … boyfriend! Tits. I want tits."

"Mmm. Are you not happy with the falsies I provided? I have some bigger ones if you really want to impress someone!" The plump man chuckled. He now held a worn measuring tap in his sausage like hands, as he began to take measurements despite Badou's protests.

"That's not what I meant!" Badou protested, searching uselessly for the cigarettes he'd left in his apartment, yet again. "And what are ya' doin'? I don't have all day! I'm in a hurry here!"

"Mmm. I'll skip right to the bottom measurements then! To get you some fitting lingerie!"

"Fuck you! Ya' old pervert! I just want a top and some pants so I can pass as a chick!"

"Fuck me, hmm? Well, I do charge a small fee, but if it will really liven up your night…." The squat man purred, before walking away from Badou and rummaging about through the shelves of his shop for what Badou had requested.

"Just what I needed ta' know. My clothing dealer's a hooker…" Badou groaned.

"Only for the right fee!" The older man giggled, as he tossed Badou a loose top and a mini skirt. "I know you've been keeping your legs shaved for your job, so you shouldn't have to worry about any obscene leg hair, right?" He inquired.

"Yeah.. Thas' right. Just… uh… I'll pay you when I get paid again. I need to make my way to a free meal." Badou stuttered, booking it for the door.

"Of course, little Badou! I'm glad you're learning how to get yourself some free food!"

Badou could have sworn he felt vomit rising in the back of his throat, as he stripped himself down in the back alley outside the shop door. Sure it was broad daylight, but it beat changing in front of that creep. He shoved his discarded drag clothes into the shop, figuring they'd make an even exchange for the get up he was now wearing. With a final check of his de-manning makeup, in a nearby store window, he began to make his way toward the café he'd agreed to meet the white haired man at, earlier that day.

He just hoped his free meal was still waiting for him. He was going to feel extremely fucked over if the white haired man had grown tired of waiting during Badou's frenzy of clothes hunting. The red head found himself practically running, in heels, and, as he became all too aware of, a thong.

And said thong was riding dangerously far up his ass at a time when he certainly didn't have the leisure to pause and extract it, not that a thong really was meant to be extracted.

Badou was quickly becoming another tragic victim to the thong wedgie epidemic.

With a histrionic sigh, he trekked his way, dutifully, and painfully, to the café. When, at least, it came into sight, he could have sworn he heard the serenade of angels. He burst his way through the doors, a determined (and ravenous) expression on his face.

Heine's head immediately turned when he heard the door open, and he came face to face with his flustered, new companion. She had indeed changed clothes, though she'd kept on the awful heels that left her towering over him.

A grimaced plastered itself firmly on Heine's face, as he gestured for her to come over and take a seat, which she quickly did. Out of the corner of his eye, the white-haired man saw the waitress give him an odd look. He knew the staff of the café weren't used to see him with company, much less that of the opposite gender. Heine found himself rapidly regretting his choice of this morning's breakfast location. He didn't particularly fancy being questioned about the red head for weeks on end by the workers.

"Glad you could make it, but you're late, aren't you?" Heine grumbled, looking up at the red head. "Here I was hoping you wouldn't show up, and I really was getting my hopes up so high…. "He added, wistfully.

"Shut your trap. I'm only ten minutes late, and anyhow, I was making myself presentable! You know, since you thought I looked so whorey. Whatta thing ta' say to a woman!" The red head exclaimed, shaking her head. "You'd better hope this café is pretty fucking delicious to make up for a comment like that!" She insisted. "And of course you're buying!" She added, with a definite delighted tone.

Heine looked to the ground, shaking his head in something akin to despair. "Yes. Yes. Of course." He added, in an exhausted tone, as he waved one of the waitresses of the restaurant over to the table, wishing more than anything he possessed the simple option to return home and partake in a much needed act of sleeping.

He waited as the woman sitting before him ordered herself a large breakfast, though Heine found himself surprised that it was not an even larger or most costly one. He, himself, ordered a pile of bacon and sausage, making a point to look anywhere, but at the woman sitting across from him. Finally, he attempted to make conversation. "So. Why were you so insistent on me buying you breakfast? I'm not interested in you, if that's what you're trying to get at." Heine grumbled, shaking his head. "I don't go for … your type. I've already said."

"I think you're going to owe me another breakfast if you keep making comments like that." The red head grumbled back in reply. "I don't put up with shit. I'm not interested in _you,_ either, but a girl can't let herself get walked on. Ya' let one man walk on ya' and next thing ya' know they're all running a marathon on your back!"

Heine was silent for a moment "What?"

"Eh, nothing." The girl replied. "What it comes down to is simple. You insulted me, and I don't take insults lightly. You like not being kicked in the groin, and I like food. Really, it's a win win situation for us both, don't you agree?"

"Uh. Sure." Heine replied, wishing even more strongly for the safety of the church he'd taken up refuge at, and more importantly, his bed. This red headed bitch needed to eat her food and get lost. He ran a slender hand through his white hair, looking over to the kitchen door, willing their meal to waltz it's way over to them, with our without the assistance of a waiter.

An awkward silence unfolded, blanketing the two, and Heine found himself believing the red head told the truth. Perhaps, his own theories of conspiracy had been greatly flawed and the woman really was just trying to get a free meal? If that was the case, he had cause to feel rather embarrassed about being cajoled into providing a meal for this wench. He folded his hands, looking back at the kitchen again until, at last, their food arrived.

The red head ate, quickly and voraciously, however she managed to escape only slightly scathed by Heine's own rude remarks. When they were both finished, Heine bid her farewell, satisfied he would never, ever see her again, or have to sit through such an awkward and unfortunate breakfast. She was, by no means, a spy, and that meant he should never have to lay eyes upon her again.

So, why was it, that as they parted ways, he was haunted by the strange strange sensation he wouldn't make it through the week without seeing the red head again?

Because, quite frankly, he really wouldn't.

_End Note: Well there it was! Chapter Two! I can promise you that things will really _really_ start to liven up in Chapter Three! So you all have something to look forward to._

_Now, on another note, if any of you would like to follow me on deviantart, my account is CrueltyoftheSnow just like my name here! This account is mine and mine alone, so you'll only be able to contact _me_ here, and none of the other members of O.Y. but I'd love to talk to anyone interested in my writing, and I'll also be posting updates about my progress on my journals. :) Farewell for now and there should be a new chapter sooner than it took for me to write this one. _


End file.
